


Time doesn't can't heal all wounds

by TheDancingDragon81



Series: Hello! I'm your homeland. [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: England and his people, England is sad but proud, F/M, Gen, Little girl growing up, Original Character Death(s), Peaceful death of old age, Sarah is curious, Sarah will always be curious, angsty, okay so it's not that sad but still sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDancingDragon81/pseuds/TheDancingDragon81
Summary: "Sarah Jane Pankhurst saw him on the street sometimes- The man with hair like a golden lion and the rather large, rather bushy, eyebrows. He was always busy, bustling this way and that, talking on the phone to some chap named Alfred (Read: Cursing the man's apparent existence), drinking his tea on the go with hurried, long-legged strides, like the devil himself was at his heels"England watches over his people as they grow up. England loses another friend.





	Time doesn't can't heal all wounds

Sarah saw him on the street sometimes- The man with hair like a golden lion and the rather large, rather bushy, eyebrows. He was always busy, bustling this way and that, talking on the phone to some chap named Alfred ( _ Read: Cursing the man's apparent existence _ ), drinking his tea on the go with hurried, long-legged strides, like the devil himself was at his heels

 

It left Sarah wondering what it was he did.

 

The man,  _ the soldier _ wore the standard army uniform, though to Sarah it seemed to be a little dated. The green suited him- it matched his eyes.

 

It was usually of a morning that Sarah would see him. It was her daily chore to sweep the footpath in front of her parent’s grocery store.

 

He had smiled at her once when she waved to him. It was the fourth of July- her father's favourite holiday. 

 

(Her father moved to England when he was little, he would talk animatedly about his times as a boy and how Independence day was always his favourite- The fireworks were amazing.)

 

Sarah didn't think it was a bad smile- There was warmth there, genuine love, but at the same time, there was pain, he was hurting. The blonde man was sad that day, and she didn't know why.

 

She'd asked her mother and all she got was a vague response,  almost brisk enough to be a scolding but not quite, her mother was firm but she was never angry.

 

"Sarah-Jane darling, it is not our duty to pry into other people's business. You must leave that poor man alone now sweetie. He's always very busy with grown-up things and doesn't have the time to deal with curious little girls who should be busy with their chores."

 

Of course, it had done nothing to deter her. It only made Sarah’s inquisitive side itch more, whenever she saw him. 

 

She wanted to know- Why did was she attracted to him like a moth to a flame? Every time he walked, her eyes would follow his path. Magnets to metal. Hounds on the hunt.

 

Till one day he stopped coming.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah grew older. She was no longer the ten-year-old girl who swept the path no. Things regarding the bushy-browed man were all but gone from her thoughts. She did not remember him.

 

Sarah owned the corner shop now, aged twenty-two. She was still quite young but her childish nature to question everything had been crushed by the desire to do her parents proud.

 

So when she saw a golden-haired, army officer walk down the footpath on the other side of the lane she didn't question. She didn't question the way his green eyes seemed to glint like freshly cut emeralds in the morning sun. She didn't question why he appeared absolutely knackered somedays and perfectly chipper the next.

 

Sometimes, she would question why his youthful face sparked something in her memory, an old urge to follow him and see where he went each day. She’d never acted on it though, between running her parents store in their memory and balancing her own life she didn't have the time.

 

So beyond the tracing of her eyes, the man went unwatched. Sarah did manage to glean a few things about him from his actions along the road. She knew he was a gentleman- the kind of man who helped an old lady across the street, the kind of man who would rather ask a lady to dance than to participate with passion before the first date.

 

  
She watched him and she watched the way he moved.

 

Till one day he stopped coming, and Sarah didn't see him again for a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

Sarah was a grandmother now. Her parents' store had been long ago demolished to make way for a newer, modernised shopping village.

 

She was sitting on a bench outside when the young man came and sat next to her. He introduced himself as Arthur, an aspiring naval officer who came to her once tiny fishing town for something new.

 

He told stories the way her father used to- animatedly and exciting, regaling stories from his cadet days that made her laugh herself hoarse in her croaky weathered voice. But Arthur didn't seem to mind, he seemed unbothered and genuinely happy to talk to her.

 

The youth of modern times usually had no-time for the elderly like Sarah. They were much too busy with their hoverboards and the latest beauty trends. She was old, a relic of a time passed. 

 

She was also lonely and yearned for someone to talk to. There hadn’t been anyone since Bill passed away.

 

He came frequently- to the bench that is.

 

They would sit and talk, he would escort her across the street and it stayed that way for a few joyous months.

 

Till one day, Sarah stopped coming.

 

* * *

 

 

Lying in a bed on the brink of death is when Sarah remembered.

 

She remembered herself as a young girl, watching the stranger across the street with curious eyes tracing his every move.

 

She remembered herself as a young woman, watching the stranger-  _ but was he really a stranger now? _ \- bustle down the street. Older, but somehow wearing the same face, not looking a day older than when she had seen him last.

 

She remembered the same- _ young? - _ old man, escorting her across the street last week. Arthur, he said his name was. Arthur like the king. Arthur the once and future leader of Albion.

 

* * *

  
  


She was sleeping when he saw her for the last time. Her face and skin like a wrinkled prune, old and frail but peaceful.

 

It was morning when they announced her death. Sarah-Jane Pankhurst. Aged ninety-seven.

 

* * *

 

 

England knew the name- Sarah-Jane Pankhurst. She is one of his,  _ was _ one of his.

 

She had always been one of his favourites, she had been since she was a little girl waving to the strange man across the street on the fourth of July. She'd been so small back then, only 10 years old, so young when compared to the eternal life span of a country.

 

He remembered the way that her eyes would always trace him- one step from abandoning the broom in her chubby little hands for an adventure before her mother called her away.

 

He had to stop walking down that lane for a while, just a few years to ensure that Sarah would forget him. She was too curious. Too intelligent, She would've questioned him, questioned his youth and as a nation, he couldn't let that secret out.

 

He'd returned to that place when she was in her early twenties, had seen her running the store- had watched many a young male court her. He had watched many a young man fail.

 

England left again, and he did not return for years. Not until Sarah was old and frail- and it tore at his heartstrings. How he had to watch his people die but at the same time... he was filled with so much joy. He got to see so many wonderful things- he saw life begin anew, he saw people fall in love, he saw people  _ ordinary _ people perform miracles. He saw his people outlive him.

 

He struggled sometimes with the weight of it all, yes.

 

But he is a Brit, he is  _ The _ Brit. The English people were strong of heart, so he is as well.

 

He loved his people, and he would never forget them.

 


End file.
